05/06/2026
Bravo was here! From Las Vegas to the Valley of FIre.
Just about an hour’s drive from Las Vegas lies Valley of Fire, where, in addition to spectacular desert landscapes, you can find fascinating petroglyphs like the ones in this photo I took some time ago.
These petroglyphs represent one of the richest and most complex examples of rock art in the American Southwest. The panel shows a red sandstone surface engraved with stylized anthropomorphic figures, bighorn sheep with large curved horns, spirals and concentric circles, a hand enclosed in a plaque or shield, zigzag lines, ladder-like structures, and a large cross or X symbol.
These carvings, created through “pecking” — removing the dark desert varnish to reveal the lighter rock beneath — are primarily attributed to the Basketmaker cultures (precursors of the Ancestral Puebloans) and, to a lesser extent, the Southern Paiute. They are roughly dated between 2,000 and 850 years ago. Particularly notable is the depiction of the atlatl (spear-thrower) in the upper section, a crucial hunting tool. The overall scene appears to be a ritual narrative in which the hunt for bighorn sheep intertwines with shamanic and spiritual elements: figures with raised arms suggest ceremonial postures or trance states, the spirals evoke paths or cycles, and the hand in the shield recalls a symbol of protection or ancestral presence.
In my search for common denominators in the human experience, I noticed that the petroglyphs of Valley of Fire — like those in my photo — and Buddhist symbols (particularly mandalas and mudras) represent a remarkable example of how universal archetypes emerge in cultures separated by thousands of kilometers and centuries of independent history. According to Carl Gustav Jung’s analytical psychology, archetypes are not arbitrary cultural inventions, but primordial forms innate in the collective unconscious: a deep level of the human psyche shared by all humanity, regardless of era, geography, or social context.
These archetypes function as “instinctive models” or “primordial images” that manifest in myths, dreams, art, and rituals. The spiral, the concentric circle, the protective hand, the anthropomorphic figure with raised arms, and energy patterns (zigzags) appear both in the Nevada petroglyphs and in Buddhist tradition because they respond to universal psychological structures. Spirals and mandalas, for example, symbolize the cyclical journey of consciousness, cosmic order, and inner transformation. The hand in the shield and mudras express protection, power, and spiritual presence. Figures in trance or prayer reflect the human need to connect with something transcendent.
This recurrence does not imply historical contact (there was none between the cultures of the American Southwest and ancient Buddhism), but it demonstrates that the human mind is structured similarly everywhere. The collective unconscious suggests the existence of inherited psychological “software” that drives us to create symbols of the life cycle, protection, inner journey, and connection with the sacred.
In modern terms, this speaks to a shared human nature: the tendency to seek meaning, order, and transcendence is biological and psychological before it is cultural. Cross-cultural studies and contemporary neuroscience confirm that certain symbolic patterns activate similar brain regions linked to emotion, memory, and pattern recognition.
Unfortunately, the panel I photographed also bears the marks of modern desecration: graffiti with names such as “Johnny” and “Joe.” These vandalistic acts damage the millennial patina and show a lack of respect for a sacred heritage. Yet even these modern graffiti embody a very ancient archetype: the need to mark territory and assert “I was here.” From the people of Lascaux who left handprints in caves, to today’s urban taggers, the impulse to leave a personal mark on a surface is universal. It is the archetype of presence and territoriality, found in all cultures — from the famous “Kilroy was here” of World War II to the petroglyphs themselves.
The petroglyphs of Valley of Fire and Buddhist symbols remind us that, beyond superficial differences, the human mind shares a deep common structure. Archetypes speak to a humanity united by fundamental experiences: the cycle of life, the search for protection, visionary trance, and the desire to leave a trace of oneself. Even the modern graffiti, painful as they are, paradoxically confirm this unity: they destroy an ancient sacred message but unconsciously add another of archetypal nature.
This perspective turns rock art not merely into a historical document, but into a window onto the collective psyche of humankind across the millennia.
P.S. Of course, I didn’t write “Bravo was here” on the rock next to the petroglyphs (that would have been sacrilege!).
But later, while having a snack in the picnic area right under that same rock, I pulled out some of my Bravo yogurt from the cooler bag and smiled at the thought:
In fact, some of the strains that live in Bravo today were already here thousands of years ago.
The Native peoples of the Southwest have been using spontaneous fermentation of corn, agave, and other plants for thousands of years — a process driven by lactic acid bacteria (Lactobacillus, Leuconostoc, and others) very similar to those in Bravo’s symbiotic consortium.
Those microorganisms have accompanied humanity everywhere, helping our ancestors transform food, making it more digestible, nutritious, and safe.
Bravo was here.
And it still is. 🦠
